


spécialité de la maison

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hannibal has a nice butt, Therapy Years, and Bedelia enjoys staring at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “Doctor Du Maurier, what a pleasant surprise,” he beamed at her, his smile wider than she had ever seen before, “To what do I owe this visit?”“I am sorry to disturb you unannounced,” Bedelia replied, even though his face told her he did not mind it in a slightest, “I am afraid I need to reschedule this week’s session. I apologise for the short notice.”





	spécialité de la maison

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caissa/gifts).



Her fingers clasped the handle of her bag in an unusual nervous manner as she walked up the steps. It was not like Bedelia to display any quirks of that nature, but it was also unlike her to act against her reason. _There was a reason_ , she continued to tell herself as she paused in front of the door, staring blankly at the polished wood. She was here to reschedule her patient’s appointment; a telephone call might have sufficed, yes, but as the cancellation came as a last-minute situation, it would better to deliver the news in person. And, besides, _she was in a neighbourhood_.

Letting a deep breath out, she finally reached for the bell. The single sound resonated deep within the house and Bedelia waited patiently, half expecting, _half hoping_ , he was not going to be there. But a turn of a lock brought her rapidly back to the present moment and she straightened her posture, assuming a mask of authority, covering her conflicting thoughts.

The familiar face appeared in the entrance as Hannibal Lecter opened the door. The habitual expression of mild inquiry disappeared at once when his eyes felt on his visitor, changing to one of a boy waking up on his first Christmas morning.

“Doctor Du Maurier, what a pleasant surprise,” he beamed at her, his smile wider than she had ever seen before, “To what do I owe this visit?”

“I am sorry to disturb you unannounced,” Bedelia replied, even though his face told her he did not mind it in the slightest, “I am afraid I need to reschedule this week’s session. I apologise for the short notice.” The explanation poured smoothly from her mouth, it had been replaying in her mind all morning after all.

“Please, come in,” Hannibal opened the door further with a start, as if suddenly remembering his manners. Bedelia was not certain whether he had heard her announcement, the delight of finding her at his threshold seemed to overpower his reasoning. She hesitated for a moment before stepping inside; _she had come this far_.

“I hope I am not interrupting anything,” she asked courteously as Hannibal closed the door behind her, feeling as another bound of their relationship vanished at the turn of a knob, this time by her own doing.

“Not at all,” Hannibal replied at once and Bedelia suspected that would be his answer no matter the situation, “I am merely putting final additions to my dinner arrangements.”

He stopped and gazed at her with intention. She was more than aware of his dinner party; he had extended an invitation to her weeks ago and, as always, she had kindly declined, falling back on the professional nature of their relationship. And yet, here she was.

Bedelia remained silent; any word would be an admission of her curiosity which in her mind equalled to an admission of guilt.

“We can talk in the kitchen, if you don’t mind,” he continued after the pause and motioned towards the end of the hallway.

Bedelia nodded absentmindedly, only now noticing that Hannibal’s usual suit had been stripped down to a mere shirt, the sleeves rolled up neatly, and an apron around his waist, the seamless white of the fabric matching the one of the shirt. She had never seen in anything else than his customary tweed and found herself staring with fascination.

As Hannibal lead her to the kitchen, Bedelia glanced briefly at her surroundings, still her eyes kept returning to her patient. The kitchen itself was spacious and modern, a comforting mix of chrome and wood, reminding Bedelia of her own, even if this space was larger and better equipped.

“Can I offer you a coffee, Doctor Du Maurier?” Hannibal asked and Bedelia pressed her lips in indecision, “I insist,” he added with a charming smile.

“Thank you,” she conceded, inclining her head slightly. They both knew excuses would be futile.

Instantly, Hannibal left the kitchen, only to return a second later with a chair which he placed by the counter. As she took the seat, she suddenly felt not like a guest but a spectator, anxiously waiting for the show.

Hannibal stepped behind the counter to prepare the coffee maker and Bedelia’s eyes followed him closely. This is the first time she had seen him in, what undoubtedly was, his element and she could no longer hide her interest.

“Is there a reason behind cancelling our session?” Hannibal asked, adding ground coffee to the syphon, “If you don’t mind me asking.” He had heard her then.

“My sister is organizing a birthday dinner for my father,” she explains, watching as he lights up the lamp under the canister with a graceful flick of a match, “It was rather sudden.”

Her sister did it almost every year, springing the invitation on Bedelia in a very last moment and therefore ensuring her attendance.

“I am sure you look forward to seeing your family,” Hannibal commented, setting down an empty glass next to the press.

“Not particularly,” Bedelia admitted with unusual honesty. She was fond of her father, but the events were always tiring. She would rather keep their session, a much more stimulating hour, but she left that thought to herself.

“They are fortunate to have you there,” Hannibal’s attempt of flattery was more pleasant that she would expect and Bedelia let a faint smile appear on her lips as he poured her coffee with a skill of a perfect barista.

Still, the prospect of the family dinner seemed like a distant speculation now as she took the glass, allowing herself the enjoyment of watching Hannibal.

Always confined by the restrains of the chairs, Bedelia now noticed how elegantly Hannibal moved. Despite his tall stature, every gesture was graceful and precise. He placed the coffee maker to a side and she observed the trim built of his upper body, muscles stretching under cotton. _It is not just a good cut of the suit after all_ , a sudden thought appeared in her mind and she took a sip of her coffee to hide her growing smile.

Hannibal now turned to open the fridge and Bedelia’s gaze leisurely persuaded the broad lines of his back and followed them narrowing down to his waist. The sides of his apron encircled it in a meticulous tie and it opened to both sides, revealing a very shapely behind.

Not a view she could enjoy during their seated session, Bedelia’s eyes lingered shamelessly as Hannibal continued to browse through the contents of his fridge. It was an unexpected present with an actual bow on top. She imagined racking her fingers down his naked back and sinking her nails into his firm buttocks. The contemplation slipped into her thoughts so seamlessly, she could not stop it. She should dismiss the notion as inappropriate, but she found it very _pleasurable_. Her body suddenly tense, she shifted in her seat, crossing her legs tighter in an attempt to suppress her pooling arousal, with no effect.

Hannibal finally closed the fridge, returning with two bowls in his hand and paused, staring at Bedelia. _Nothing more than a coincidence_ , she told herself, hoping her thoughts were not written on her face.

“I see you are busy,” she commented seeing him place the bowls on a counter, “I should be going.”

“Nonsense, Doctor. Please, finish your coffee,” he retorted at once, smiling at her.

Both pretences were feeble, and they knew it well. Bedelia was as reluctant to leave as Hannibal was to let her go. She picked up her glass again in a silent agreement and watched as Hannibal returned to his preparations with the smile still present on his lips.

The bowl contained a cold cheese mixture which Hannibal now proceeded to shape into small balls and then rolled them in the plucked seeds from the other container, pomegranates betrayed by their unmistakable red. It was a very basic taste for a man of his skills, but she still stared intensely. Her eyes followed the movements of his nimble fingers; each sphere was perfectly sized and round. The muscles on his forearms twitched as he worked and Bedelia’s own fingers were restless, stroking the smooth surface of the glass, while she contemplated grazing his arm instead.

He would turn to place the prepared chevré in the fridge, giving Bedelia another chance to gaze at his round behind and she did so without remorse. She had never considered that food preparation could be so interesting or so _stimulating_.

Once the bowls were empty, she felt unusual disappointment of an absorbing performance cut short. Hannibal cleared the counter and turned once more; Bedelia gave his buttocks one last farewell stare.

When he returned to the counter, Bedelia was surprised to find a plate in his hand, one chevré adorned with grapes, nuts, and figs.

“I couldn’t possibly deprive your guests of any of the treats,” she stared at the plate placed in front of her.

“I do not expect anyone _special_ tonight,” his eyes peered into hers in an unuttered sentiment and the heat within Bedelia’s core now advanced to her skin. She focused on the dish, pomegranate seeds sparkling like jewels, inviting, and tempting.

“Thank you,” was all she managed to say, but she took the fork and cut into the cheese, making Hannibal grin in delight.

The appetizer was excellent, as expected, and their conversation ventured into subtle differences between Parmesan Reggiano and Asiago; Bedelia savoured her dish while Hannibal disclosed his culinary secrets.

Minutes passed without notice as they both found themselves engrossed in conversation, and even more so, company. Bedelia’s initial reserve had dissolved somewhere on the bottom of the empty coffee glass.

“I wish you an enjoyable dinner, Doctor Du Maurier,” Hannibal said when they eventually left the kitchen and made their way down the hallway.

Bedelia had almost forgotten about her engagement, or the actual purpose of this visit; it seemed as though it had happened in another lifetime.

“I hope one day you would allow me to cook for you. _Just for you_ ,” he added heartfully as he opened the front door for her, biding her goodbye.

Standing in the doorway, Bedelia looked at her patient, the heat within her burning steadily, her fingers still eager to touch, and hoped he could do more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> For k/ kmo ♥, who asked for a story with apron porn and Bedelia staring at Hannibal's butt.  
> Pomegranate chevré appeared in the first episode of "Hannibal". You can find the recipe in Janice Poon's "Feeding Hannibal" book. It is not a complicated dish, but if there's a chance of including pomegranate seeds in a story, you know I'm taking it.


End file.
